The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1908 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Whilst I was happy to help the girls offer their services as rentamob bridesmaids I was concerned that David and Ingrid’s romance had happened like the proverbial whirlwind–and I suspect could be a mistake. He was desperate for a girlfriend and she’s probably looking for security. I don’t know how fast a divorce can be petitioned but it will probably take months. If it’s a long engagement, so much the better. I don’t wish to see the path of true love hindered, but I would prefer to see it develop more cautiously. I mean, I didn’t fall in love with Simon for at least a couple of months, not a couple of days. Simon, of course, reckons he fell in love with me almost immediately. I was so tempted to take him to the vet to get his eyesight checked.

I was tidying upstairs when Si came to find me, “Why are you hiding up here?”

“I’m not hiding, I’m cleaning.”

“Couldn’t it have waited until David and Ingrid had gone?”

“No, I shared in the toast to them.”

“And then left.”

“Simon, I have things to do.”

“They could have waited an hour, surely?”

“I preferred to get them done.”

“You worried she’s going to lead him away from here?”

“No.”

“Yes you are, you’re blushing.”

I was now, I’d been bent over picking up his dirty socks and the fact that he mentioned it tends to make it worse. “I am not. I’m red faced bending over picking up your dirty old socks–why can’t you put them in the laundry bin?”

“I do...”

“...Eventually. I wondered what the funny smell was–your manky socks.”

“That’s good, honest sweat.”

“It might have been when it was fresh, last April.”

“Ooh, don’t exaggerate so, they’ve been there a day at most.”

“So you’ve worn four pairs of socks in a day?”

“Maybe a day or two then.” Now he was blushing–deservedly so. He went for distraction. “You don’t want David to marry Ingrid, do you?”

“It’s nothing to do with me.”

“If you gave your real blessing, it would mean so much to them.”

“It’s nothing to do with me.”

“Of course it is–they work for you and live in tied accommodation–of course it has loads to do with you.”

“Simon, it doesn’t–they are free to do as they wish within certain limitations of their contracts.”

“So why won’t you give your blessing?”

“It’s got nothing to do with me.” He accompanied me in saying this in a silly voice.

I bent down and picked up his dirty underpants and threw them at him. They landed on his head–pure chance.

“Ugh, what’re you doin’?” he gasped pulling them off and casting them on the floor again.

“Put them in the laundry bin, not there,” I said sharply. He blushed picked them up and dumped them where they should have been in the first place.

“Happy?”

“No, you should have picked them in the first place.”

“Okay–point taken.”

“You say that every time, Si. I don’t believe you any more.”

“Okay, I mean it this time.”

“You said that last week and the week before.”

“Alright–look, if I do it again, I’ll buy you something nice–how’s that?”

“I’m not a child, Simon. I don’t need bribery. I need you to change your disgusting habits. It isn’t my job to go around picking up after you.”

“Okay, I’ll get Ingrid to do it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, can’t you see how stupid that would make you? It’s like prince Charles purportedly having someone to squeeze the Royal toothpaste on the royal brush.”

“Oh.”

“Besides, I don’t want strange women in my bedroom.”

“She’d be domestic staff, you’re lady of the manor.”

“I don’t care if I got to be queen, I still don’t like it and besides, she’s got better things to do than fetch and carry for you.”

“It would be for you, babes.”

“No for you–you’re the one who should do it in the first place.”

“Okay, for me then–I’ll be paying for the privilege.”

“No you won’t because I forbid it,” I was feeling irked.

“You forbid it?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes, I do.”

“Aren’t we forgetting ourselves a little?”

“What? It’s you forgets things like picking up your dirty pants, not I.”

“Yes, but I am your husband and, I do sort of have rank on my side.”

“Simon, I cannot believe you said that–so I’ll give you two minutes to think about it and if you don’t withdraw it, then it will be interesting to see whether Ingrid or I can get the quickest divorce.”

He started to laugh. “Cathy you are so sweet when you’re angry.”

“I’m also very dangerous, so I advise you to leave this room now, unless you’re coming to apologise for being a total arsehole.”

“You what?”

“Piss off, Simon–now.”

“But we haven’t discussed the forthcoming wedding.”

“Would you prefer to discuss the upcoming divorce–Cameron vs Cameron instead?”

“Babes, this me–your lord and master.”

“Simon–go and take a running jump–but do it NOW!” I screamed the last bit at him and he looked confused for a moment and then left. I then locked the bedroom door and stayed there. On a good day he was so understanding and helpful. On a bad one he was a total prat. Today was definitely the latter.

I really didn’t care what David and Ingrid did–it was their business. I just felt for David’s vulnerability–he isn’t versed in the ways of women even if he was one a long time ago. In the same way Ingrid is also vulnerable, but through a very different route. I wouldn’t like to see either of them hurt, hence my desire for a long engagement. I just hope they’re not rushing headfirst into a disaster because it could cause them lots of trouble.

Then I got cross with Simon for his assumption that we’d lose a good cook. I’d find another–I got this one–and perhaps Simon also forgets that I introduced David and Ingrid, and I have no intention of introducing them to Simon’s dirty pants and socks.

I dusted round and tidied my wardrobe–there were one or two things Julie or Jacquie might like that I’d finished with. I pulled them out and laid them on the bed for them to sort through. I undid the door and went through to see if they were home yet.

Unbeknownst to me, Simon went into the bedroom saw the clothes on the bed and assumed I was leaving him. He came dashing up to me, dragging me off into my study.

I kept snapping at him to let me go and he assumed I meant to go as in leaving. “Babes, you can’t leave–I’d–I mean, we’d never cope without you. Please I’m down on my knees, begging you to stay and apologising for what happened earlier. Please stay.” There were tears running down his face.

“What? Get up you knuckleheid,” I used one of Tom’s favourite expressions. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“But the clothes on the bed–you were packing–weren’t you?”

“No, I was sorting through my wardrobe–the stuff on the bed is for the girls to sort through–the big girls–I’ve worn it enough.”

“Oh,” he went as red as a Welsh rugby jersey. Then I had to help him up off his knees. Some days, I do wonder about him.